


043 - The Fangirl Dream

by storiesaboutvan



Category: Catfish and the Bottlemen (Band)
Genre: F/M, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-18
Updated: 2019-01-18
Packaged: 2019-10-12 05:20:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17461379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiesaboutvan/pseuds/storiesaboutvan
Summary: Filling the prompt “Could you write a story where youre a girl in the crowd and van notices you and invites you on tour as your friendship goes on, and then he tells you he loves you and you feel the same way” from hazeinyou, and an anonymous request for being on tour with Van. //  a.k.a. the fangirl dream. I am here for it, my friends. Dream away.





	043 - The Fangirl Dream

Months of waiting and planning and anticipating had to lead to that very moment. As Catfish and the Bottlemen walked out on stage and launched into Homesick, you were instantly done. Of all the bands you’d loved, of all the sounds that resonated in you, their music did something to you none of the others could. There was depth in their simplicity, and magic in their honesty. From the day you first heard a demo of Broken Army floating around online, to that moment in a surely over-capacity club, you had been there for them because their music was there for you. You’d learnt their names through reading interviews. You liked that they seemed normal, unaffected by the success. You loved that they worked hard to get to where they were, and that they were forever humbled by the fans and the lyrics being screamed back at them.

When Bondy, Benji, and Bob left the stage you knew Hourglass was coming. It was an accident when you and Van locked eyes. You must have been singing because he smiled through the words and nodded at you. It was in the running to be the most memorable part of the night. Its chances of winning that title though, were ruined two songs later when a crowd surfing leg collided with the back of your head, sending your face into the metal barrier in front of you. Blood started to pour down your face and pool in your hands. The girl to your left screamed, and your friend Mia to the right waved frantically at one of the security guards. He easily dragged you over the bar, and you felt light headed.

You were carried back to a room that was home to a few couches and tables; a green room. A medic positioned your hand to hold the bridge of your nose, and she shined a light in your eyes and asked you to follow it. When you knew the year, your location, and an alphabet, she said you were fine. Probably no concussion, but if the club didn’t want to be liable they should keep you still for a few hours. The medic and the manager left you and Mia alone.

“I’m sorry,” you said straight away. They'd pulled Mia out directly after you so you wouldn’t be alone.

“For what?”

“You’re missing them because of me,” you replied, your voice nasal due to the blocked nose.

“Y/N, it’s not your fault! Besides… we’re backstage… You should have seen Van’s face when they carried you away. They’ll definitely come say hi.”

"I don't care about meeting them, Mia. I have waited my entire life to see Tyrants live."

She gave you an expression of sympathy, then started to look around the room. She concluded that it was not in use that night; that no band was calling it home. The manager of the bar came back with some water and an ice pack a few minutes later, and as the door opened you could hear Van singing, "…but they won't mind throwin' us away." A part of you died.

Fifteen minutes passed and you were bored. Mia was scrolling through her Instagram feed, occupied enough. You stood up, about to suggest you both leave, when there was a knock on the door and it opened. Van McCann's head appeared, followed by the rest of him.

"Hi!" he said. Mia stood and stared. He walked to you first. "Alright there?" he asked. In the minutes prior, Mia had tried to help you clean the blood off your face, neck and chest. You had limited resources. She said you looked like you just ate a man.

"Hey. Uh, yeah. I'm fine. Ice pack helped. No broken bones or concussion or anything," you told him. He looked genuinely concerned but still slightly amused. 

"They've not taken you to the bathroom?" he said. It was technically a question, but the answer was obviously written in red across you. You shook your head. "Come on, then." You followed him out of the room and Mia followed you.

In a small bathroom you had a mirror and running water. You were thankful for the decision to wear little eye makeup, because it would have been a mess by then. The blood was caked on, but you cleaned it off the best you could. You'd stay rosy for the rest of the night and there wasn't a lot you could do about it. Deep bruises were already starting to form under your eyes, and the bridge of your nose was swelling despite the ice pack. 

It had been quiet outside the door, and you wondered if Mia and Van were awkwardly standing in silence, then there was a knock. You opened it. Mia was leaning against the hallway wall. Van was at the door. 

"You can have these. Thought maybe you'd want a clean shirt?" He handed over two different Catfish merch shirts. One read You're Simpatico… in his handwriting, and the other had 26 on the back.

"Oh my gosh. Thank you so much," you said. It wasn't the free merch, it was the clean shirt. You pulled your tshirt over your head in front of him, wincing as the collar run over your nose. You pulled on the first clean shirt. It made you feel a whole lot better. Van looked a little bewildered, and took a step back as you came out of the bathroom. "How fucked up do I look?" you asked Mia.

"Well… the water has helped but you still look…" she didn't know how to finish the sentence.

"I think you look fine, love," Van said helpfully.

"Ohhhh nooooo," Mia said. He looked at her confused. "Y/N hates the word 'fine.' Says it always means something bad,"

"No!" Van turned back to you, "Really! You're still stunning,"

"Still?" from Mia, "Compared to when, Van McCann?" God, she was a good wingman, but you weren't really trying to hit on him. You were more concerned with the melting ice pack and the fucked up face and the stained shirt.

"Compared to before the blood," he answered and went a light shade of pink. "Anyway, what were your names again? Do you want to meet the others?"

…

It didn't take long to feel at ease around them all. As you had thought, they were down to earth and completely normal. Bob kept asking if you were sure you were okay, and if you wanted him to go find another ice pack. You declined.

"It really doesn't look that bad," Van said for the thousandth time.

"It will. You're going to be dead fucked tomorrow," Bondy said, giving you an amused look over his beer bottle.

"I can deal with that. It just aches," you replied.

"Maybe…," Larry started and began to search his pockets. He dropped a bag of weed on the coffee table in the middle. You looked up at him like he'd given you life. He laughed.

It helped, a lot. It also calmed Mia down enough that she could hold conversation. After an hour or maybe two, Van motioned for you to follow him out of the room. You walked in his shadow down a hallway and out a fire exit. You sat side by side on the step outside. Nobody was around and the quiet was good for your head.

"You good?" he asked.

"Yes. You can stop asking me. I'm not going to sue you or anything,"

"Not what I'm worried about. Don't have any money anyway, so you can just go ahead,” he laughed. You sat in a few beats of silence and watched him play with the buckles on his boots. "We have two more shows here this week," he looked up for a response and you nodded. "Did you want to come for those? I'll put you and Mia on the door list,"

"I'm sure she'd be very grateful for that. We were dead excited about tonight. I'm cut I didn't see Tyrants," you said, careful in your choice of words. He looked genuinely happy that you liked his music, like it was still a shock to him whenever he got positive feedback.

"Thank you," he said.

"For what?"

"You know, coming tonight. Caring about the music. All that. It's class. Never thought people would care this much," his hands shook with emphasis.

"They do though, Van, a lot. If you could hear what people say about Catfish and if you could feel what it's like to be part of that… It's so real and good, and just… yeah," you said, the sentence picking up pace as it came out. He was watching you with a smile and his eyebrows were raised like they would when you watch kittens make the little meowing sound.

You'd never really met anyone that could be considered even a little bit famous. You assumed you'd be nervous, or starstruck. You didn't know if Van counted as 'famous' but he was at least the most well-known person you'd ever met. You felt completely normal around him; maybe even more normal than around many of the people you had to interact with every day. By the time Mia came looking for you, being led by Benji, it was almost three in the morning. Your body had gone numb from sitting in the same position but you felt good. You told them to say goodbye to the others, and you and Mia walked back to her car. She was excited to come back.

"If you could sustain another dramatic facial injury, we could maybe keep getting free things and go backstage again!"

…

You didn't need to have any more pain inflicted on you. You were at the front again, and Van sung half the show to you and Mia. After, when you were at the bar drinking water and trying to recover from finally seeing Tyrants, there was a tap on your shoulder. It was the manager. He took you backstage and delivered you to the green room.

"The stoned baby and fucked up face girl return!" Bondy called, and hugged you both at the same time. You individually hugged the rest. When you got to Van last, he held you tight.

"I expected the bruising to be worse," he said. The swelling was mostly gone; it had been a couple of days. The bruises were easy enough to hide under concealer and heavy smoky eye shadow. 

"So I'm still, what was it, stunning?" you asked in a sickly sweet voice. He grinned and nodded.

The night rolled on and the dirty green room started to feel like home. It was around half past midnight when someone suggested food, and you all went to leave through the back entrance. There was a group of fans milling about, and you and Mia and Larry waited down the alley. Larry was stoked every time someone came over for a photo with him. "I told you I'm in the band," he said to Mia and she rolled her eyes. When the fans were happy and a little teary, the boys joined you and you headed off into the city.

Hours later you were watching the sunrise from the top of a building that had an external stairwell. You'd gone to open the gate, thinking it would be locked. When it wasn't and you started to climb. Van followed close behind, which meant everyone followed. You sat along the roof in a line and took turns trying to tell the most fucked up stories you could think of.

…

You woke up in Mia's bed mid-afternoon the following day, and your phone was buzzing. A number you didn't recognise flashed up, but you picked up regardless.

"Hey, Y/N," Van's voice didn't sound hungover or tired at all. You mumbled out something that resembled a greeting. He laughed. "Are you still in bed?"

"Mia's. Yeah. I don't completely remember how I got here,"

"We took you there. Larry and I literally tucked you into bed,"

"Wow… That is an image. Maybe I'll remember later,"

"It's on Benji's Snapchat story," he told you and you nodded even though he couldn't see it. There was a pause. "Um, I was just wondering if you maybe wanted to get dinner later? Before the show?"

You wanted to respond at a casual normal speed, or if not that, then after an awkward pause that you could pretend you were thinking about what you had to do that day in. Instead, you immediately choked out a 'yes.' Van laughed.

"Um. Mia's welcome to come, but I think I heard you guys say you were going to meet at the show anyway?" he said and that was how to act smooth. You looked over at her; she was wide awake watching you with curious eyes.

"Yeah, we are. So, just me, if that's alright?"

"Yes. Yeah. Totally, babe. I'll come pick you up around 5?"

"Perfect."

You hung up and covered your face with a pillow. Mia tapped your hand.

"Please do not tell me that Van McCann just asked you out on a date?" she said. You nodded from under the pillow, then ripped it away quickly.

"No! No. It's just dinner,"

"Sure. If it's just him and you - it's a date, Y/N."

A few hours later, after Mia had left work and you had showered and changed into a fresh borrowed outfit, Van knocked on the door. He was also clean and fresh and definitely alone. A date, then?

As you sat next to Van in a booth at an Italian restaurant, you felt a warm blossoming feeling. The one where your body felt at home, and you mind felt at ease. It appeared when he slid in next to you, rather than opposite. You ate pasta together. You had gnocchi and Van argued it wasn't even real pasta. He had spaghetti, and you were secretly excited to see him struggle with it. He didn't though; he expertly twirled it around a fork and didn't make one drop of mess. You were impressed, and he could tell.

He asked about your work and life, and you explained that you were on holidays for a little while. You'd saved up enough money that you could take the uni holidays off completely. You had about a month before you were going to be thrown back into the harsh reality of life. He laughed and said you should start a band. None of that adult life stuff that way. You genuinely considered it.

After dinner you walked through busy city streets to the venue. Van walked by your side, and when the crowds grew more dense, he put an arm around your shoulders and kept you close. He signed CD booklets and skin at the artist entrance for the fans there, then you went inside. Mia had already been collected and you greeted her in a hug.

The show was amazing, and you started to realise you could track how much fun Van was having by the amount of weird howling sounds he made, and the number of times he'd stop singing to laugh. If off stage he was a little ray of sunshine, then on stage he was the magnificent sun. He was blinding and beautiful, but if looked for too long your eyes would water and you'd feel all mushy inside. Importantly, he seemed to give life to the room.

The venue emptied quicker that night; probably after people heard that the boys would eventually come out the back. You and Van sat on the edge of the stage, legs hanging over.

"Which show was the best?" he asked. He wasn't fishing for compliments, he just genuinely wanted feedback.

"Probably the one where my face got smashed in," you joked and pointed to your face. It was still bruised, but given the amount of blood produced in the moment you were happily surprised at how quickly it was healing.

"Still stunning," he replied. You smiled and looked away, trying to hide the blushing. "So, I was thinkin' about all this boring adult life stuff you hate… I spoke to some people," he pointed upwards, indicating the people he had spoken to were important, higher up, "and I'm allowed to ask if maybe you wanted to come hang with us for the rest of the tour. I don't know how into the idea of being squished in a van with a bunch of lads you are, or how much you like cheap hotels and not eating a lot of food, and also not getting enough sleep, but you know, if you wanted." He was rambling and it was the first time you'd seen him nervous, if that's what it was. You were distracted by the emotional content of his voice, rather than the actual words he said. He'd asked you to go on tour with him; with Catfish. You. Catfish. Tour. It was happening.

…

It was just over a week into the touring that you first maybe regretted the decision. You had fallen asleep in the van between Larry and Van and when you woke up your neck was fucked. It hurt a lot, but you didn't want to complain. You didn't want to seem ungrateful. You battled through the day on a diet of Coke Zero and codeine. When the show finished and everyone was either packing up or chilling in the green room, you excused yourself. You curled up on a seat in the van and tried to get a few hours of sleep.

The goal was soon to be achieved if not for Van McCann and his gentle tapping on the window. You sleepily looked up at him. He looked concerned but waved with a friendly smile. You nodded and he slid the door open.

"You okay, babe?"

You knew he called pretty much everyone babe… love… honey… sweetheart… but your heart still skipped a beat every time it happened. He sat on the floor of the van with his legs over the side.

"Yeah,"

"All fun and games until, huh?"

“No! I love being here,"

"You don't have to love it all, though. What's up?"

You told him about your neck, and the pain bleeding into your shoulders. He made you get out the van and stand facing it. He put his hands on your hips and explained that they were all very good at fixing the problem of sore muscles, as it was such a commonly occurring problem. His hands moved to your shoulders and he started to massage. You leant into the van. You wondered how close the guys would stand to each other when this happened. Probably not as close as Van was to you. His fingers kneaded out the knots in your shoulders, and the pain from your neck. It was pure magic. You had to fight to contain a moan. When he finished by running his palm flat down your spine, straightening your posture, you wanted to cry from loss of contact. You turned to face him.

"That… Thank you,"

"Worked?"

"Yes. Yeah. Definitely. That is a skill you have there."

His eyes lingered on you longer than what your body was comfortable with. Too much. Van tucked you back into your little cocoon of blankets on the back seat, and locked you safely inside. When everyone eventually came out, you were well napped and up for a group sing-a-long to Build Me Up Buttercup. Hearing Van say the word 'buttercup' was also too much.

…

A few days later and you drew the short straw. Literally. Usually a bad thing, it was the method used to determine who would get the one motel room with a king bed, therefore, in that case, a good thing. Whoever got the room was graced with the luxury of solitude; they didn't have to share with anyone. You had refused to have your name in the draw, arguing that you weren't working therefore didn't deserve it. Bob put a straw in for you anyway. When you won, you refused harder. Those were the rules, though.

When you finally retired to your room, after spending hours playing pool at the pub across the road, you felt lonely. You'd spent almost two weeks constantly surrounded by people and the silence of the room was deafening. You curled up in the middle of the big bed and watched the television screen without taking anything in. Then, there was a knock on the door. It was the gentle tapping of Van.

You opened the door. He had a pillow under one arm and a Snickers bar in his hand. He held it out.

"Let me sleep in here and I'll pay you this brand new Snickers."

You would have let him in without payment, but as you watched him kick his boots off and strip down to underwear and a tshirt, you were happy to have something to distract you. You got into bed, and there was enough space between you that it wasn't as if you would have to touch throughout the night if you didn't want. The television was white noise and you fell asleep quickly.

You woke up before Van. The motel curtains were thick and blocked most of the sunlight out. The room was lit in the sick blue glow of the television screen. The blanket was around his waist and you watched his chest rise and fall in even beats. You lost track of time watching him sleep. When his eyes slowly opened and he yawned, you felt embarrassed and quickly turned to the television. Van pulled the blankets up over his head and moved closer to you. He wrapped himself around your body and stayed hidden.

"Mornin', babe," he mumbled.

"Hey," you whispered back.

"How's the touring life treating ya?"

"Are you going to stay under there?" you asked. He shifted a little bit, but stayed wrapped around you. You moved the blankets to see his face. He smiled and nodded.

"Please cover me again," he replied. You laughed and buried him.

"The touring life is good. I'm happy. You guys make me happy," you told him. He didn't reply, but he squeezed you a little harder. "Can I ask you something?" You felt him nod. "Why'd you ask me to come? I mean, wasn't I just another kid at your show?"

It was a dangerous question. You had hypothesised that the reason he'd asked was because he felt guilty about you being hurt at one of his shows. He was known to stop mid-song to check on people in the crowd, so it wasn't that far of a stretch that he'd want to make it up to anyone that missed half a show due to copious amounts of blood pouring from their face. You wanted it to be because he thought you were fun and would improve the general vibe of the tour, but it seemed unlikely.

Van unwrapped his arms and appeared from under the blankets. He sat up with his back against the headboard and his legs stretched out in front of him. You didn't move from your lying position, head on the pillow. He looked down at you and studied your face for a moment.

"I wasn't just messing when I said you're stunning. You are. You're also just really good to be around. You're good to talk to. You make me feel all settled. When I was thinkin' 'bout leaving, it was just good to think about you being at all the shows. The guys think you make me calmer too."

That tiny little part of you that secretly wanted a confession of love, it died. It was a huge compliment, and he had called you beautiful and wonderful and all things good, but it wasn't 'oh, Y/N, I'm in love with you,' so you couldn’t help but feel a bit shattered. You didn't know you'd wanted love until you didn't get it.

…

Nine days later Catfish played a show at a bar with a rooftop deck. It was closed for the winter season, but you jumped the rope across the bottom of the stairwell and headed up alone. You could hear the final few minutes of Tyrants fade away as you climbed higher. The door to the roof was locked, but you'd learnt a valuable skill set from Mia's older brother. He'd taught you both how to pick locks, and get out of the boot of cars if you ever needed to.

You took a chair off a pile stacked in the corner and sat down with your legs hanging off the edge of the building. You closed your eyes and listened to the sounds of the city. The air was cold, and the clouds above were only a little lighter than the black night sky. It would probably rain any minute. You heard the door open. Van appeared. His hair was saturated, and he still had a towel around his shoulders. He was drinking from a water bottle. He pulled a chair over and sat next to you.

"Thought you lived for Tyrants?" he joked. You smiled and shrugged casually. "You're not getting bored, are ya?"

"No. Not at all. I just really like being up high. I can stay next ti-"

"Y/N. It's alright. You don't have to stand next to the stage every night. You can do what you want,"

"I do want to be here,"

"I know. I want you here. It's alright."

You sat quietly together for a while. Van was normally very hyped up after shows; buzzing off the energy of the crowd, eager to go out and meet fans. His slow, sleepy movements and lack of conversation were therefore weird.

"You alright?" you asked. "Being very quiet."

"Yeah. I just… I've got to tell you something that I probably should have told you a few weeks ago." You turned to him then. A million different thoughts cycled through your mind in quick succession, but none of them made any sense. "It was probably a bit of a creep move to invite you on tour without telling you. Then when you asked why you're here, I should have said something…" He paused at the most critical part of the story. He didn't continue. A second. Two. Three.

"Van. You're freaking me out,"

"Y/N, I like you. Like, fancy you like, type of thing. It's more than… what I've felt 'bout anyone else, so I'd pretty much say that I'm in love with you if I didn't think you might freak out,"

"You just said it,"

"No, I said I would say it… different, see."

Well. There it was. The tiny little part, the one that you let die in a motel bed days ago… it was resurrected. You forgot you were meant to reply. To say something. To indicate where your emotions stood. Like it knew you couldn't move, the rain filled the empty space and broke the tension. It fell from the sky hard, and was welcomed by a clap of thunder. You went to stand up, to move under cover. Van grabbed your hand and it was enough to keep you glued to the chair. He didn't look any different in the rain; sweat was already sticking his shirt to his skin and making his cheekbones look highlighted. You feared you would look less attractive drenched.

"I…" Where to begin? Admitting it to Van would be admitting it to yourself, and you'd spent a long time pretending to not like him. You didn't want to be a cool friend that got a crush and ruined the whole thing. Of course, that couldn't happen. He just said he loved you. "Um… Are you sure?" He nodded in confirmation. You could see he was equal parts hope and trepidation. "Yes," you said weirdly. You knew what you meant, but he didn't.

"Yes?"

"Fuck. Um. I mean, me too. I also… I feel the same. Yes."

You were grateful that it was night and raining because it made it harder for him to see how much you were dying from your lack of verbal fluency.

"Yeah?" he asked, cautious. You were being very vague and unclear.

"Fuck. Van. I'm sorry," you stood and he stood and you were so close. He looked at you and wiped a raindrop from your cheek. You just needed him to do it. Lean in. Kiss you. You could kiss back and it would say what your soundless words couldn't. You forced yourself to maintain eye contact. A second, again. Two. Three. Then, he caught up and kissed you and you kissed back. You leaned into him and let his hands slide under your shirt and across your back. You had your arms around his neck and he picked you up and carried you the few steps to be under cover and against a wall. After minutes, he stepped back and looked at you. He smiled wide and shook his head.

"What?"

"Nothing. You're just… yeah, stunning."


End file.
